


Don't Speak of the Speakeasy

by Morrie_Wilde



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 1930s, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol and cigarette, Alternate Universe, Angst, Based in London, Betrayal, Blood, Character Death, Complete, Criminal!Arthur, DI!merlin, Fluff, Irish!Merlin, Killer!Gwaine, M/M, Mention of Death, Multi, Murder, Poetry, Recreational Drug Use, References to Oscar Wilde, Rough Sex, Smut, Suicide, Use of slur, Violence, no happy ending, slight mention of homophobia, speakeasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23932126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morrie_Wilde/pseuds/Morrie_Wilde
Summary: 1930's AU.Two years after Will's death, DI Emrys is still grieving his late lover. The only thing that keeps him going is his desire to bring  down the Knights, lead by a man only known as "Pendragon". But the man is like a shadow, hovering over London, unseizable.But if only he knew the man he was so desperately running after was the same one he was now kissing goodnight."[...] The cowards does it with a kiss,The brave man....[...]"
Relationships: Gwaine/Percival (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 73





	1. Pip and Hooch

**Author's Note:**

> It all started on the simple fact that there's a prison called 'Woodworm' in London, and I instantly thought about Merlin famously looking for woodworms. Before I realised what was happening, a 1930's AU was born. You might not see the connection, but my mind did apparently. And I have dumbhotbitchknightgwaine to blame for hyping me up on this prompt, so here's my gift to her, cause she deserves it.

**_Pip and Hooch_ **

Getting drunk in a nameless London pub, DI Emrys mindlessly lit on the cigarette hanging from his lips, his gaze lost in the amber liquid in his glass. It had been two years today. And no matter how hard he tried, Will’s face was fading a bit more everyday. He wasn’t even sure he remembered the sound of his voice, or if it was just a construct of his drunken mind. He had loved him with all his heart and soul, and he had been erased from his life, one night, without any fair reason. And yet, he still loved London, its crowded streets and constant chatters. London had taken Will away from him, but he could almost forgive Her. It was not Her fault that such horrific events were taking place in Her very heart.

For five years, he had been battling the Knights, the criminal organisation rotting the beauty and innocence of his city. And when he was closing his eyes at night, he was trying to convince himself that Will’s murder had only been a collateral mistake and not a direct threat directed to him and his job. But some nights, he could not overcome the guilt, and getting wasted was his only escape.

They said the country was at dawn for a new war. Germany had a new ideology, partisans joining the movement everyday. The people were living with this Damocles’ sword above their head, as the country had only just recovered from the Great War. But in all selfishness, the DI had no feeling towards the upcoming doom threatening his beloved country, all his thoughts annihilated by the sweet memory of Will.

He downed his whiskey in one go before tapping his fingers on the bar, cigarette half consumed stuck between his long pale fingers. The barman refilled his glass without even a look, before leaning back on the counter.

Miss Morgana LeFay was singing tonight, and her beautiful emerald green dress was making the light dance on the walls. Her long black hair was done in a intricate hairdo, that he believed must have taken hours. She was mesmerizing, her silver necklace illuminating her perfect milky skin, almost as if she was the real jewel.

Merlin propped an elbow on the bar and slightly turned to listen to the show, while his whiskey was waltzing nonchalantly in its prison made of crystal, a single ice cube clicking against its wall at the rhythm of the live orchestra. His senses were hypnotized by the fringe of her dress, the click clack of her heels, the ringing of the her gemstone earrings.

He almost zoned out, lost in the haze of his drunken hour. To his own surprise, he chuckled, suddenly finding himself to be a quite miserable sight. He cleared his throat and paid for his drinks, without even bothering to finish his last glass. His gestured to the barman to not worry about the change, and loosely dropped his long coat on his shoulders.

As he was stumbling down the streets, despite trying his best to walk straight, he bumped into a young man and almost lost his balance.

“Oi! Watch it! Bloody drunkards!” the man shouted back at him, but he could not care less, focused on the man’s over coat. Its dark hazelnut colour only submerged him with memories of Will’s hair, always messy. He only wished to pass his fingers through it one last time, a reminiscence of their long nights, their body locked in one, their name's only being a faint moan on their lips.

The man had long walked away, and he stayed there, leaned against the damp wall of one of the many grey buildings. His feet seemed to remember the way, and soon enough, he was standing in the lobby of his apartment building. Making his way to the stairs, he got stopped by the concierge, who held a letter.

“Good evening sir. Someone left a message for you.” Merlin grabbed the paper and wished the young man a good night.

Struggling in each steps, he read -or tried to read – the missive. It took him more time than he would care to admit to make sense of the gibberish laid before his eyes. He might concede that it was unreadable mostly due to the whiskey dancing in his vein. He had reach the third floor by the time the meaning if the message hit him, and he came stumbling back down .

Out of breath yet still running, dodging the crowd on the pavement, he stormed through the doors of Scotland Yard. His perfectly combed hair was sticking up in some places, and the faint stubble in his jaw only made him look even drunker than he was. But such development could not wait for him to shave.

“Is it true?” he asked Gwen across the reception desk. The young woman, with a coffee skin and chestnut eyes, was the first woman to ever earn a position in Scotland Yard. She was incredibly good at her job, and yet, she was stuck on desk duties. But she was pleased nonetheless, knowing she had succeeded in a way.

“Yes, he is currently on his way to Woodworm prison.” She could not hide her pleased expression. After years of tracking them, they finely had arrested the man at the head of the Knights. The DI had almost started to believe the man was a legend, a shadow hovering over London, a silent and dreamlike threat. This man was suspected of murder, crime organisations, weapon and drug smuggling and countless others acts. But until a year ago, they had no real evidence to convict him but that was until greed won the most of him. He had committed his first mistake, a crime we would like to not speak of : he had murdered his own father. Only to rise to the top, earning his title. He was now the only one in charge, and in the last year, the Knights had only become more violent, staining the streets of London with the blood of innocents. And despite being more visible, this man was not reckless, and was almost impossible to track down. Merlin had been on the case for longer that he wished to remember, and he had only managed to get a single name : _Pendragon_. Nothing more but a name, yet it was enough to make the whole of Scotland Yard swarm around like hyperactive ants. This name alone had given him nightmares, sending cold chills down his spine.

But it was over. They had him. Pendragon was no longer this indescribable silhouette.

“Gwen, schedule a meeting for tomorrow morning, at the first rays of light. Pendragon is _mine_ , and mine alone.” He hammered his fist on the desk at each of his words, sobering up at each passing minute. “I want his fingerprints. I want his mugshot . I want his full name. We have him, we are not letting him walk free.” On those last words, the superintendent walked in, dressed in his famous immaculate black three piece suit.

“DI Emrys.” The old man said.

“Gaius.” Merlin held his hand between them, awaiting a handshake that never came.

“Merlin, this is our only chance to stop the current bloodbath London is subjected to. I am expecting a solid case to bring before the court. Leave no stone unturned. Pendragon will be convicted. I don’t care if we can only prove tax fraud or bootlegging. You will get him off our streets.” He could only agree with the words of his godfather.

This was a chance they could not miss. If Pendragon walked free, they knew he would never let himself get caught ever again. He had made the mistake of drinking in a pub that happened to be a police hang out, and had stupidly bragged about his criminal life, only to be arrested on the spot. It all sounded too easy, Merlin thought. But he also realised he had turned this Pendragon into a legend when the man was just a man, and a man makes mistakes, no matter how good they are.

“What’s the time?” Merlin turned back to Gwen as he spoke.

“Half past midnight.” She said, glancing at the clock through the window of the nearby office.

“Where is he now?” he enquired, lighting on an cigarette Gaius had graciously offered him.

“On his way to Woodworm. We have three police officers escorting him.” She replied, a frown appearing on her usually soft face.

“What is it Miss Thomas?” the superintendent walked behind her desk, glancing over the note she had scribbled on the report following the attestation.

“They should have called back already. He should have arrived at Woodworm a while ago.” DI Emrys snatch the report, stretching his arm over the counter. Ashes were falling on the pages as he franticly browsed through it.

“He has been apprehended two hours ago. What is going on?” he passed a hand through his slicked hair, messing it up even more, his fingers now slightly sticking from the hair grease.

Almost on cue, the desk phone ringed.

“Constable Thomas.” She had automatically grabbed a blank report form and a pen. But as the voice over the phone was speaking, she had not wrote down a single word. She locked her eyes in Merlin's and silently nodded along the words he could not hear. After what felt like an eternity, she wrote down three names, the date and the time. She hanged up the phone back on the wall, her hands slightly shaking.

“He’s gone.” She bluntly announced.

“Gwen, what do you mean _he’s gone_?” DI Emrys pressed the matter, his jaw now locked, the smoke of his cigarette escaping from his nose as he let out an anxious sigh.

“He shot dead the three officers. Left their bodies in front of the Woodworm’s gate. A car was waiting for him around the corner and he jumped in.”

Her eyes were hovering the three names she had written down, mentally preparing herself to call their family.

“The bastard. The _bloody_ bastard. He did it on purpose isn’t it? He got himself arrested just to _fucking_ taunt us!” Merlin stormed off in his office, slamming the door behind him. Through the open blinds, Gwen could see him brushing off the top of his desk in one swipe of his arm, before letting his body fall in his chair, head buried in his palms, his knuckles white.

Without a word, Gaius walked in, bottle in hand. He poured a glass and slid a cigarette along the wooden desk, before exiting the room. Merlin rubbed his eyes, ashamed of the tears running down his cheeks, and downed the glass. He tapped the cigarette three time on the back of his hand, before digging up his box of matches from his inside pocket.

“Is it about Will?” Gwen shyly asked her superintendent.

“It’s been two years today, and Merlin is convinced Pendragon is to blame for it.” The old man sadly replied, heavyhearted.

“Is he?” She bit her bottom lips, refraining herself to glance back at the DI. She knew he would not like to be seen in that state.

“Yes.” Gaius eyed the DI for a split second, before turning back to the constable. “Just make sure he gets a taxi back home, would you?”

She nodded as Gaius was shoving his hands in his pocket. The door closed softly after he had left, and she found herself alone, the ticking of the clock echoing loudly. She took a deep breath and walked over the DI’s office, her eyes lingering on the metal letters on the door. She knocked, and getting no reply, she slowly entered. Merlin lifted his gaze to meet hers. His blue eyes were lighter than usual, almost like if the tears had washed away few shades of his iris. She was momently lost for words, looking for the man she once known : the ever so proud and cocky chief inspector he used to be, just the day before. His elbows were propped on his desk, his chin resting in his hands which were locked together. He had long stopped looking at her, staring into oblivion. He had turned into an empty shell, crumbling before her eyes. She cleared her throat tentatively but got no reaction. She took two step in, avoiding the countless papers laying on the floor.

“You should go home, sir.” She only knew he had heard her by the slight nod he gave. He stood up, still wearing his coat, snatched the box of matches from his desk and strolled by her side without even a look. There was no way he was going home.

Dishevelled, he walked back in the pub he had left earlier, and let his body fell on one of the bar stool, all energy drained from him. He must have looked as miserable as he felt because the bartender did not even bother with small chitchat and just poured him his usual. He retrieved his wallet and ordered the whole bottle instead.

“Easy there. Someone could think you’re trying to drown yourself.” Merlin snapped his head towards the unknown voice, only to be met with a man, harbouring a devilish smirk. The blond man slid Merlin’s note back to him before giving him a flirtatious wink.

“Gwaine, bottle’s on me.” The bartender smiled back, and snatched the bottle previously placed on bar to replace it with an unlabelled one. The man grabbed it, his silver ringing clicking against the glass, and poured a generous glass to the DI. Merlin gave him an appreciative nod, not even flustered by the clear display of illegal alcohol. He did not have the strength to arrest anyone tonight, and he’d rather warmly welcome the stronger beverage.

He downed it and his empty glass slammed back on top of the bar. The man chuckled and refilled the glass. Merlin allowed himself to have a better look at him, losing himself in the blue of the man's eye, his slightly tanned skin and perfectly combed blond hair. His suit was clearly worth a fortune, and had been tailored to perfectly marry the man's toned body.

Two years since he had had someone in his bed. Two years since his fingers had danced on someone else's back. Two years since his lips had kissed someone goodnight. Two years since his heart had beaten to the rhythm of an other.

The man’s hand slightly brushed his fingers, in a gesture innocent enough to not raise suspicion, yet clear enough to give away his intentions.

Morgana's was still singing, her dress still waving at the crowd.

He had one drink to many. He was empty, despite his blood being overflowed with liquor. He was angry, he had been mocked, his title turned into a sinister joke. He bottomed up the rest of the amber liquid and scratch his young stubble. The man brought a cigarette to Merlin lips, and he gladly accepted it. A hand cupped the tip as the other approached with a gas lighter. The man shook it to kill the flame in one expert move, before pocketing it. The DI took a long drag, and handed it back to the blond. The man gladly took it, and with the cigarette placed between his teeth, he gave a bright grin to Merlin, before walking away slowly.

The DI cleared his throat and a few seconds later, followed the stranger. They ended up in a corridor and passed the bathroom. At the end, without even looking over his shoulders, the blond man held a door open and Merlin shoved his body inside.

The door had not even slammed shut, that two strong hands found their resting place on Merlin hips. The DI slightly moaned at the touch, before being silence by the contact of warm whiskey flavoured lips. They stumbled backward drunkenly until the man opened an other door, entering what appeared to be an office. Merlin instinctively thought the man was the owner of the place, but his trail of deduction were cut short when the man grabbed his arse roughly, bringing their body even closer.

With a quick glance around the room, the DI realised they were no bed or sofa, and that only pleased him even more. He felt the man hardening against his thigh and he pressed himself even closer, hungry for any contact.

The desk was sweetly digging above his hips, sending waves of pain in all his body. The man was hungrily nibbling on his jaw and neck, bruising the skin without a care in the world. The man suddenly broke away, planting his eyes in Merlin's, awaiting a final approval. The DI grabbed the man's hand and placed it on his hardened cock, before leaning towards his ear. “Just fuck me. Please.”

That’s all Merlin wanted, _needed_. A meaningless shag to fog up his mind. The man let a groan escape him, and grabbed the DI's hips again, before violently turning him, pushing him on top of the desk. Merlin moaned at the contact of the cold wood again his chest, despite his layers of clothes. He felt the man leaning on his back, hard against his arse, his arms on each side of his body. The blond kept biting Merlin's neck, and the DI was gasping for air under the weight and the touch of his partner.

The kissing stopped, and the man placed his hands on Merlin's. In almost a whisper, the man spoke, his hot breath brushing against the DI’s face. “How do you want me to fuck you?” Merlin moaned and just a single word escaped his lips, begging. “ _Hard_.”

The man welcomed the word by harshly kissing him, splitting the dark haired man's lip in the process. The hands that were previously softly resting on his hardened their grip, before pulling the DI's arms and holding them in place behind his back. He only realised the man was restraining with only one hand, when he felt the other teasing him over his trousers. He pushed his hips backward greedily. The man growled and unbuttoned Merlin's trousers, before letting them slide down his legs. He did the same with his owns, pulling harder on Merlin's arms.

The man considered teasing him a bit longer but only one moan from Merlin was enough for him to make up his mind. He pulled down the briefs of the man slammed on his desk, delighted to see him so hard. He lost himself on the pale skin uncovered before his eyes, and massaged one cheek before slapping it. The redness appearing softly before his eyes was the most beautiful thing he had even seen, accompanied by the man's soft moans. He retrieved a bottle of lube placed on his desk, and poured a generous amount on the man's arse. He discarded the bottle on the floor without second thoughts, and with his free hand, slowly spread it around Merlin's hole.

The DI was maddening even more at every second passing under the touch of the blond, and kicked his hips backward once more, dying to feel him. His wishes were quickly answered when he felt a finger making its way inside. The man twisted it around, feeding himself of every sound Merlin was making. He quickly followed it by a second, which only made the DI beg for more. He just wanted to feel, even if it was pain. “Just fuck...me.” Merlin tried to articulate, his hips rocking on the man's fingers.

“You're not-“

“ _Fuck_. _Me_.” He barked. The blond felt his cock painfully hardening. He took off his fingers and freed himself, placing the head at Merlin's entrance. Before he could even move, the DI jolting backward again, and the man bit his lips to restrain a moan at the contact. He quickly came back to his own thoughts and grabbed a metal box on his desk. He unfolded a condom and put it on. His left hand was close to cramping up, his grip on Merlin's wrists hardening at every passing second. His right hand spread Merlin's cheeks open, and he placed himself, slowly pushing in.

Merlin’s jaw was tensed, trying to swallow a painful sob. The man stopped, only to be shouted at. “Keep going.” He pushed himself back in, his eyes closing as pleasure was crawling under his skin.

“You’re so... _tight_.” He let go of Merlin's arms to instead anchor his fingers on the pale hip. The DI planted his palms on the desk, and sent his body backward against the blond. He smiled through the pain, feeling the blond’s cock fully inside of him. He could not have one single coherent thoughts, his all body having been lit on fire. It was all so perfect that he did not want to move.

It’s only when the man starting to pound him that he allowed himself an other muffled cry. He did not want it to end.

He moved his arms from the desk, and opened himself up, spreading his arse open. The blond responded with a guttural growl, before leaning on the DI, grabbing the black hair in his fist, his other hand around his neck, his nails almost splitting the skin. Sweat was dripping from their body, and they did not know which sound belonged to who. The man let go of Merlin's hair, only to slap his arse once more. “I'm... _fuck_.” The man found the DI cock, and allowed his hand to follow the same rhythm as his hips. He couldn’t say anything more, coming long and warm.

Merlin crumbled in a pile of inert limbs as he came in the man’s hand shortly after.

“ _Hey_!” The DI opened his eyes, his vision all blurred. He felt like a cloud, his body tingling all over. “ _Hey_!”. He heard the voice as if it was miles away. “ _Shit_.” He finally had the strength to stand up, before sitting, bare arsed, on the desk. He rubbed his eyes, a smile on the corner of his lips.

“Bloody hell! You scared the _shit_ out of me mate!” The blond was dressed again, his cheeks slightly red, pearls of sweat rolling on the side of his face.

“It’s fine, I'm _fine_.” Merlin realised how wasted he really was at the sloppiness with which he had said those words.

“You passed out! I don’t call that being fine!” The DI nodded. The tingling sensation made sense now.

“Must have been just like few seconds. It happens, it’s alright.” He brushed the subject away, gesturing towards the man nonchalantly. He did not like the look of worry the blond was now harbouring. He had passed out in the past and for him it was no big deal. He knew he needed to eat more, drink less, and possibly know when to say stop during the act. He pulled up his briefs and trousers, struggling with the buttons longer than his sober self would have, and snatched a cigarette that was resting on the desk. Almost like an automatism, the blond approached him and lighted it on. He stared at the man, submerged by the envy to kiss him again. He laughed under his breath, and scratch the bridge of his nose.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. It was a nice shag. I needed it. Thank you.” The DI walked to the door and handed the rest of his smoke to the man.

“Arthur.” The blond said softly. Merlin was already halfway through the door and he doubted the dark haired man had heard him. He looked back at his desk, and leaned against it, crossing a leg on top of the other. He blew some smoke from his nose before killing his cigarette in the ashtray. Mimicking his legs, he crossed his arms on his chest and shook his head. He only wished to see this man around again.


	2. The chiv-man and the sharpy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of blood and drugs.

_**The chiv-man and the Sharpy** _

Merlin struggled to open his door, his hand shaking. He swung with the door and lost his balance. He could already feel his hangover throbbing in his temples despite still being intoxicated. 

He threw his long coat but missed the chair, and the fabric just died on his carpeted floor. He dragged his body, with difficulties, to the mattress in the corner of the room. On his way, his stumbled on the ashtray laying by his bed, sending ashes in the depth of the wool fabric of the floor. 

He let himself fell hard on his mattress, his eyes exanimating the room. The walls were yellowed by the nicotine and the faint light source was illuminating some dust dancing in the air. His morning cup of tea was still living on his small table, the chair drowned under a pile of dirty clothes. A mountain of newspaper was threatening to collapse by his bathroom door. 

He turned his head to the wall hosting his stained mattress and his gaze wandered on all the paper cut outs pinned in the wood. He stood up, his head spinning, and placed his palms on his _oeuvre d’art_. A thin red thread was linking different articles together, all related to what he believed to be the Knights dirty work. _Dead body found in the Thames early this morning. A new illegal brothel closed down in the West end. Suspected speakeasy currently under investigation._ He banged his forehead on the wall, defeated. In one single year, Pendragon had successfully took hold of the whole city and Scotland Yard could not keep up the pace. Time for them to close one place, the Knights had already opened three more. His fists made contact with the wall on and on before he even realised he was emptying his frustration on pieces of paper. 

From the corner of his eyes, he caught the only photograph he owned of Will. He traced the contour of the picture with his finger and sighed. _I miss you,_ he whispered. A glimpse of red brought his attention back to his right hand, too drunk to realise one of the thumbtack had dislodged itself to start a new life in the flesh of his index finger. He pulled it out with his teeth and spit it on the floor, before letting himself slide down the wall down to his bed. Still dressed, he slowly drafted into Morpheus’ arms, his last thought being for Will. 

______

He groaned at the striding noise coming from his alarm clock. His eyelids weighted two stones each, and his mouth was dryer than the air of his room. He coughed and rolled out of bed, ending directly on the floor. He groaned once more when his knee ended up right on top of the thumbtack. He didn’t know how, but he found the strength to raise to his feet and put the kettle to boil.

He strolled to his bathroom and discarded his clothes. He was met by his own reflection, the red and purple bruises and nails marks contrasting on his pure white skin. The past night came back to him, and he became almost sick to his stomach, and mindlessly turned his head back to Will’s photograph, before dropping his chin to his chest, avoiding the mirror at all cost. _Arth_ \- 

The kettle stopped his thoughts with its whistling, and the DI shook himself back to reality. With each step requiring too much energy, he growled at each passing second where the kettle was screaming. He finally grabbed it, and poured himself a cup of tea, before mixing the rest of the water in the washing basin of bathroom, pre filled with cold water. He dipped a cloth in the now lukewarm liquid, and gave himself a quick wash before mindlessly shaving. It almost felt like an out of body experience, reliving the birth of every bruises and marks as if he was an omniscient presence floating in the corner of the pub office. He is not sure about how long it took him, but when he finally emerged from his bathroom, his tea was overbrewed.

  
He frowned but still drank the whole cup, welcoming the warm beverage washing away the alcohol from the previous night. From the pile of clean clothes roughly folded under his window, he grabbed a pair of cotton trousers and a shirt. Once he was dressed, he scooped a large amount of hair grease and combed his hair, parting it on the left. Some might say it was to fit with the fashion of his time, but he just could not stand the natural curls his hair was displaying when left ungreased. 

He slipped a cigarette in-between his lips, patted his pockets to ensure he had everything, and he left, closing the door of the dump he called home. 

On his way to Scotland Yard, he stopped to buy the news paper. His eyes trailed over the titles on each pages, waiting for something to catch his attention. Lost in the black letters on white papers, he stepped in traffic. A hand grabbed his shoulder to pull him back firmly. He stumbled backward, and ended up holding himself up with the help of a lamppost. When the situation had sunk in, he turned his blushing face and softly thanked the person who saved him. 

“Don’t mention it.” His eyes widen at the voice, and he slowly turned his head towards the man. The same blond hair, the same blue eyes, the same well tailored suit. Only this time, the man displayed a certain arrogance in his demeanour. And the blond did not seem to recognised him. Merlin did realised the man seemed lost in a notebook though. But before he could think, he heard himself speak up. 

“Arthur.” It was more a murmur than anything else, and yet the blond man visibly tensed at the name. He closed his notebook hastily and placed it in his inside pocket. He ran his hand through his hair before finally turning to Merlin. Arthur’s shoulder suddenly dropped, clearly not expecting to see _him_. People bumped into them as the crowd set into motion to cross the road, but they did not move. 

“You.” Arthur smiled softly, his superior flair totally forgotten. Merlin’s heart skipped a beat as he recognised the sparkle in the man's eye. Will used to look at him like that. The DI cleared his throat and offered his hand. 

“Merlin.” If possible, Arthur’s smile grew larger, and he happily shook the DI's hand. Their hands hanged in their for too long, almost as if they did not want to let go of each other. An umpteenth person bumped into them, and they both snapped back to the present time. Merlin could still feel the presence of Arthur's hand where it used to be, so he buried his hands in the pockets of his long coat, hoping to bury the feeling as well. The two of them crossed the road, walking too closed to each other, their shoulders seemingly attracted like magnets. 

As their feet walked on the pavement again, Arthur gestures awkwardly to his left, signalling it was where he was heading. 

“Listen...um, Merlin. I totally understand if yesterday night was, you know...” He passed his hand in front of his mouth, looking over his shoulders. He continued, his voice even lower than it was. “ ... A one night stand. But if you feel like seeing me again, you can always find me at the Albion.” Merlin raised an eyebrow at the name of the pub, only now made aware of its name. 

“Yeah... I might Arthur. I... I will. Pass by. I mean.” He felt so self aware, feeling dozens of eyes judging them. But London carried on Her routine, unbothered by the two static points in the crowd that they were. He stared at Arthur, who was being swallowed in the street. He still wanted to crack his skull open to relive the tension of the hangover, but he could not help and smiled, slightly. His newspaper rolled up under his arms, he started to walk again. 

“Morning Detective.” Gwen saluted him, always using his title if people where around. He nodded, and entered his office. To his surprise, everything had been cleaned up, and a plate of scones was waiting for him on his desk. He glanced at the reception desk, where Gwen was beaming. He snatched a scone and greedily bit into it, silently thanking her. His stomach made an upset noise, but he welcomed the food gladly. 

On the top right corner of his desk, a folder caught his eyes. He tilted his head, mouth full, and dropped the half eaten scone back on the plate. His hand snatched the folder, and he sat on his desk, facing the entrance of the station. In uppercase red letters, the name “ _Pendragon_ " was displayed on the cover. He opened it, and browsed over the mix of handwritten and machine typed notes. He read over the declaration of the Woodworm prison guards. They could now identified this Pendragon as being a blond lad, roughly six feet. It was not much, but it was more than they had collected over the last twelve months. He closed the folder and stood up, pacing in his office. The pile of ongoing cases judged him from the left corner of his desk, and he sighed, before grabbing the one on top. He grabbed a seat, and went through the report. Something about moonshine being smuggled from the French coast. He spent the next hours reviewing different cases. 

_______ 

“Oi! Had a good evening Boss?” Gwaine chuckled when Arthur entered the Albion. The blond rolled his eyes but smirked. 

“None of your business. I’m paying you to get me drunk, nothing more.” His words were lacking any real animosity. He clapped his hand on the long haired man's shoulder, while the bartender slid a glass over the bar. Arthur grabbed it and downed it. He grinded his teeth and coughed. 

“Oh, that’s vile.” 

“It’s way cheaper though.” Pointed Gwaine, sniffing one of the bottle and grimacing. 

“Even for free, I would not drink it. God, give me some of the good stuff, the back taste is even worse.” He shivered, the counterfeited alcohol sending the wrong kind of chills down his spine. Gwaine handed him a bottle of branded whiskey, and Arthur took a large gulp directly from the bottle. 

“You better leave me some.” Arthur turned and offered the bottle to Morgana. She snatched it and mimicked Arthur. 

“That’s not really lady like.” Arthur teased, while Morgana chuckled, the neck of the bottle still pressed on her blood red lips. She was dressed in a ostentatious purple cocktail dress, gold beads embroidered on the fabric. Her wavy black hair was left loose, a feathered hairband as sole jewellery. She shoved the bottle back into Arthur’s hand, her hand now busy with her golden cigarette holder. She turned on her heels and went back on stage, chatting up with the musicians. 

“Tell Percy to cover your shift tonight. I got a job for you.” Arthur eyed Gwaine, who was still stupidly smiling. It was starting to get on his nerves. The bartender seemed to realised, and gestured to the mirror behind him. Arthur looked at himself, and saw a faint love bite under his jaw. He laid his hands on the bar, and stared back at Gwaine, harbouring an innocent yet deadly expression. The bartender shrugged, his smirk still present but more discreet. 

“Just saying Boss. Someone had a good time yesterday.” Gwaine was actually shocked when Arthur’s lips curled in a smile. A really good night apparently. But as quick as it came, the smile disappeared. Arthur slammed his palm against the bar again and pointed at the bartender. 

“You. Job. Tonight. Be ready.” Gwaine nodded solemnly. He made a call to Percy, and once the arrangement were made, he walked to the office. He entered without knocking, but Arthur had longed stopped trying to teach the man some manners. The long haired man leaned on the desk and picked over the documents laid in front of him. He placed his index on the face of a man on the cover of yesterday’s news paper. Arthur nodded. 

“Do what you want, I just need him gone.” 

Gwaine knew better than to ask for details. He was here to do the job, not think. He folded the newspaper page and placed it in his pocket. 

“Consider it done Boss.” 

He left the office, without closing the door, which only made Arthur rolled his eyes. Gwaine was lucky to be so gifted, otherwise he would not be putting up with him. He stood up and exited his office as well, and actually closed the door. He also locked it, just in case. A quick glance at his pocket watch informed him they were to open in half an hour. He sat back at the bar, and started to drink. 

Ten minutes before the opening time, Percy took place behind the bar. He shook Arthur’s hand and waved Gwaine goodbye. The long haired man winked at his boss and left. 

_______ 

“Merlin?” the DI put down the folder he was reviewing, and looked back at his superintendent. He did not like the overly concerned tone of his godfather, but considering his state of the previous night, he understood it. 

“Gaius. I’m sorry for yesterday. It was highly unprofessional to storm in here while intoxicated.” And he was truly sorry. He was just losing any notion of boundaries when Pendragon was mentioned. At least, he was silently glad that only Gwen and Gaius had seen him like that. 

“It’s not why I’m here. You are called on a new case. Lord Gorlois has been murdered. They are expecting you on the scene.” 

The DI sighed. He _knew_ the Knights were behind it. The Lord had been in the spotlight recently, backing up the new law meant to reinforce the provenance check of the alcohol served in the free houses. He stood up and hanged his coat on his arm. He snatched the address Gaius was holding out for him and in less than ten seconds, he was out on the pavement, hailing a cab. An Austin stopped and he jumped in hastily. 

  
He arrived at the scene just before 9pm. The back street had been closed up, and he could see the Lord body laying cold on the floor, blood splattered on the nearby bins and walls. This was not a clean assassination, the perpetrator had clearly had fun, beating up the victim and took their time. The DI kneeled, his notebook opened in one hand, his pen in the other. With a delicate gesture, he moved the coat of the Lord, and three stab wounds appeared on his chest. All focused on the heart. He scribbled down the elements that he deemed important, before writing in uppercases “ _The_ Knight”. He had seen bodies like that over the last year, and even if some thing were drastically different, the three stab wounds to the heart were always there, always the same, made in an almost perfect triangle. He believed it to be the work of one man, cocky enough to sign his crimes, and deranged enough to love his job. This was someone who took pleasure in eliminating people. 

The DI sighed and stood up, and allowed the coroner to move the body to the nearest hospital. He pulled a smoke out of its pack, and browsed through his own notes. He had collected enough information to identify at least three different individuals, but apart from that, he was not getting closer to any names or description. Lord Gorlois has been murdered by the _sadistic_ one. Last week, a free house owner of the upper town had been shot dead by the _ex-military_ one. Two months ago, the wife of a rich trader had been poisoned by the _sly_ one. On this last one, he could not shake off the feeling that the perpetrator might be female, a gut instinct. 

In long strides, he reached the phone box down the streets and called his superintendent to let him know of his own theories. Gaius seemed overly tired over the phone, and the DI could guess why. The old man had seen the Great War, the Depression and yet, despite the threat of a new war hovering over their city, London was supposed to be in a time of peace. But here they were, counting the bodies, and washing up the blood from the pavements on an almost daily basis. London was at war, but it seemed only a handful of men where to blame.

He told Gaius not to wait for him back in Scotland Yard, and hanged up. As he was making his way down the streets, all the boutiques mocked him with their closed metal doors and lights off. He could not believe that someone could be brutally murdered in the street of the city deemed the centre of the country, and fleeing the scene without leaving a single witness behind. From all the profiles he had established, the sadistic one was the only one that was taunting him, escalating the gruesomeness of each of his new designs. He did not want to play that game, he did not want to show it was affecting him, but as the months were passing, he felt like he was being fooled, a mocking of Scotland Yard in bright daylight. 

He flipped the butt of his cigarette down the road, and closed his notebook. He needed a drink. Will’s voice echoed in his head. _You’re turning into a bloody alcoholic_. “And you’re not here to stop me.”. He considered his options before settling down for the Albion. He was not looking for a repeat of the previous night, but he hoped that Arthur might provide a discussion interesting enough to distract him from his thought. He let out an empty laugh, aware of how desperate he was for the smallest glimpse of social interaction. He felt like a saddening bore, the fallen detective in the sole search of a chat. He felt miserable. 

_____ 

Gwaine entered the Albion and made his way to the bar with no difficulties. They had only open an hour ago, and apart from drunk patrons, the bar was quite empty. Miss LeFay was not yet singing, and the only music that could be heard was coming from the gramophone in the corner of the stage, breathing some jazzy notes. He gave Percy a smile, extending from ear to ear, as the giant slid him a bottle over the counter. 

“Oh Lord Gwaine, could you at least clean yourself up?” Arthur exclaimed, still sat at the bar. The bartender had droplets of blood scattered on his face, and his clothes were soaked in rain water, which was a mystery to Arthur considering it hadn't rain in the last two days. 

“Yeah _Boss_.” Gwaine replied, rolling his eyes. He sadly left the bottle to Percy and made his way to one of the back room, where they kept extra clothes. A quick trip the Albion's bathroom, and he was as good as new. He came back at the bar, and asked for his drink back, pleading he earned it. 

“No witness?” Arthur’s voice was always cold and his demeanour was almost disdainful when talking about the Knight’s business. 

“You know me eh?” the blond nodded. He did knew Gwaine, and the guy was good. He could attack him on his alcoholism, and he was convinced the man was nose deep in cocaine most days of the week, but yes, he was good. He might be taking too much pleasure doing those jobs, but that was none of Arthur’s problem. He just needed the target dead. If Gwaine wanted to spend half an hour torturing the lad, well, so be it. His only direct order was simply ‘Don’t get caught’.

The boss turned back to Percy, who was really focused on polishing a martini glass. He was struggling to understand why the giant was working for him : he had never killed, and did not want to. He was not drinking, not gambling, had shown no interest in the pretty birds, nothing. He was just standing there, all tall and buffed. 

“Why are you a Knight Percy?” his words overtook his thoughts. He did not mean to actually ask. 

The giant simply shrugged. 

“Have you ever seen someone pick up a fight when I’m working at the Albion? _No_. You’re welcome.” And it was true, the man had to only walk towards people if their voices started to rise, and they would shake hands. He guessed that Percy actually did not need to be violent or cruel, his body was enough to dissuade anybody from attempting something. He really had the easiest job here. 

“Money?” Arthur asked. 

“Easiest money I ever made Boss.” The giant actually laughed. It’s true that Arthur was paying his employee quite generously. But he had reached a point where he had too much money. He never thought such a thing existed, but London was his, and he had no interest in other cities. His late father would probably shame him for his lack of ambition, but down in his grave, he was forever silent, much to Arthur's contempt. 

When he had killed Uther, few Knights labelled him as heartless, thirsty for power, greedy, but he could not just stand by anymore. His father was _good_ , but not great, and he had abandoned London to try and conquer Glasgow, Birmingham and Liverpool. His methods were brutal and immoral. He did not care about his prostitutes, about the quality of his moonshine, or about the wellbeing of his employees. For Arthur, it had to stop. So he stopped him. Ever since, he had invested in motels for his girls, he was the one in charge of the quality check of the counterfeited alcohol, and he always made sure his employee were thriving and happy. And yes, London was a bloodbath, but that was part of his business. But to say it was the blood of innocents raining down the Thames was just ridiculous. Or at least, he tried to convince himself of such. He kept a journal of all the collateral victims of the Knights. There were twenty five of them. Only a drop in the ocean. But he had sent the families a nice pile of cash as an apology, not that he believed a human life could be bought, but it certainly helped. Some nights, if he had consumed enough alcohol, he liked to think about what kind of life he could have had, not being born a Pendragon. Maybe he would enjoy buying a cottage in Cornwall, do crosswords in the morning and walk down the cost in the afternoon. But he quickly discarded those thoughts, he was born a criminal, and would die like one. 

To stop dwelling on the past, he ordered a new glass. 

“What was it all about yesterday, Boss? The show in Woodworm?” Gwaine enquired. Ah. Yes, Woodworm. He had woken up the previous morning, not in a good mood. He blamed it on the cheap cocaine he had to try the day before. For a split second, he just wanted for everything to stop. So he had walked in that pub he knew was full of pigs, and had basically gave himself to them. But as he was transported to the prison, he had watched his city, its buildings, its people. And he had realised he could not leave without Her. So he had killed the police officers, and thanks to his dumb luck, Leon happened to be driving by. 

“Just wanted to kick the anthill. Make a statement. _London is ours._ ” He raised his glass and cheered with Gwaine. As he brought the rim of the glass to his lips though, he caught a glimpse of a familiar silhouette walking through the door. The bartender followed his gaze before giving him a knowing smirk. Arthur pretended to not see him, and kept drinking. 

The DI grabbed a sit at one of the small table by the stage, and laid his notebook, cigarettes and match box on the table, his long coat discarded on the back of the chair. He glanced at his pocket watch and decided it was an appropriate time to start drinking. 

Percy slammed a bottle of whiskey and two old fashion glasses on the bar, and gestured toward the dark haired man. 

“Come on Boss.” Gwaine ordered him, and to his own surprised, he obeyed. He seized the whole, and strolled towards Merlin's table. He hated it, but he was nervous. 

He placed the bottle on the table, and the sudden noise made the DI jumped out if skin. He cleared his throat. 

“Sorry, did not mean to startle you.” Arthur widen his eyes slightly, surprised to hear himself apologising. He hated this, feeling like he could be himself, feeling like his _Pendragon_ alter ego was locked in a cabinet. He had forgotten how to be _Arthur_ a long time ago. “But you came back.” 

“I...yeah. I did.” Merlin was battling a mixture of contradictory emotions within himself. He wanted to run away, pretending he never came back to the Albion, but he wanted to stay here all night, if only to stare into this man's eyes. He bit his bottom lip, trying to convince himself that he can not cheat on someone who has been dead for two years. _You’re mine. I’m yours_ , Will's words reverberated in his mind. He poured himself a drink. 

“Had a long day?” The blond asked awkwardly, not being used to small chitchat. He felt all his eloquence leaving him. 

“Yes. Well, the usual, sadly. You?” The DI shifted on his chair, too self aware of himself. Arthur was looking at him with tenderness and what he identified as lust, and he struggled to get over it. He wanted the blond, and apparently, the feeling was shared. 

“Yeah good. Good.” Arthur gestured to the Albion, proving his point. 

Silence fell between them. The DI finished his glass and Arthur poured some more for both of them. 

“Listen Merlin. I’m really not good at small talk" the DI chuckled, and so did Arthur. “ But I really like you.” He dropped his gaze into his glass, and missed the soft pink colour that Merlin's cheek were now harbouring. 

“I think I like you too.” Merlin replied softly. 

“You think?” the blond raised an eyebrow, not an accusatory one, but just curious.

“It’s complicated.” The DI downed his whiskey and turned back to the stage, following Morgana who was making some arrangements for her show. 

“There’s someone else.” It was not a question, but a statement. Arthur had spoken with a stern voice, his heart painfully twisting. 

“There _was_ yes. He... passed away.” The DI swallowed a sob. Since it had happened, he had actually never talked about it. He had simply left the flat their shared, rented a shithole, and buried himself in his work. He could not allow himself to think about it. Instead, he had created his wall of evidence, morphing his sorrow into revenge. It was probably the only thing that kept him going. 

“I’m sorry.” Arthur looked away. He only wanted to erase the distance between the two of them and tell him it would all be alright. 

“It’s not your fault. It’s fine. Its been two years, maybe...maybe it’s time to move on.” The words did not hurt as much as he had expected. Instead, he felt a weight lift from his chest, almost as if Will had given him his benediction. _You have the prettiest smile Merlin, never lose it_. But he had lost it. And he thought that perhaps, Arthur could be the one to bring it back. 

“Yeah...yes.” The blond looked around as more people made their way to the Albion. He left his hand wander on Merlin's knee for few seconds. The DI did actually smile in this moment, covering his mouth with his hand, eyes moving around. Public signs of affection were not allowed for them, but this simple touch had revived something in his soul he truly believed he had forever lost. Blood rushed down to his cock, electrified by this simple contact.

He had a boner. And he knew he was screwed, cause so did his heart.

Seeing Merlin giving him a heartfelt smile, Arthur could not help but do the same. He had never looked for his special someone, and yet he thought he was directly looking at him now. His organisation, the murders, the blood, the drugs, nothing mattered anymore. This is what he wanted, the life of a simple man, loved. Suddenly, the idea of abandoning everything did not seem crazy anymore. 

He took off his hand and stood up, grabbing the two glasses and the bottle at the same time. 

“I believe it would be more reasonable to carry on this discussion somewhere more private.” The DI nodded, and retrieved all his possessions from the table and his coat. They walked, separated by a safe distance until they’ve reached Arthur's office. The blond placed the drinks on the desk, and moved away some paperwork that was dying on the only other chair in the room. They grabbed a seat, only separated by the wooden furniture. 

“Do you want to talk about... him?” the Albion's owner finally spoke. 

“I... I think I do, yes...well. His name was Will. We had met during our time in Trinity college. He was such a grumpy lad, you know.” His smile was now sad, sweating with nostalgia. Arthur’s hand had crossed the desk to hold his, drawing comforting circle on the back with his thumb. “We then moved back to London. He was turning everything into a joke, bored by all the seriousness of the Londoners.” Merlin softly rolled his eyes at the memory. “Sometimes, I’m looking down a street and I can still hear him making his snarky comments. But despite everything, he only made me fall in love with him even more.” He gave up trying to hold back his tears. Talking so openly about Will was making him happy, he who thought it would destroy him. “And... one night, he left to get me more gas for my lighter, and he never came back. They...They found his body the next day.” He was twisting the box of matches between his fingers, eyes locked on Arthur's hand on his. 

Slowly, Arthur brought his second hand to Merlin's and lifted it up, placing a chaste kiss on each knuckles, caressing with his thumbs each place his lips had previously touched. Merlin leaned slightly towards him, and the blond moved his right hand on the DI's cheeks, swiping away a tear, and languidly moved it at the back of Merlin's neck. He lurched just as slowly, his eyes lost in Merlin's equally blue ones. Their breath was just one, until their lips touched, for a furtive second. Their eyes were closed, and the world around them did not exist anymore. 

The thin walls let Morgana's voice flowing around them, the serenade of their lonely hearts, of their love that dare not speak its name. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chiv-man : killer who favours the use of a knife   
> Sharpy : police man 
> 
> Alright, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! A bit angst but a bit of fluff cause we're only human ! See you next time !


	3. Pitching Woo

_**Pitching Woo**_

It seemed an eternity before any of them found their breath to speak. Arthur stared at Merlin, and his world crumbled around him. They say love at first sight is a thing, but Arthur never believed them, and still did not. It was not love he felt pulsing through his veins, it was much bigger, more powerful and utterly more beautiful. He felt his lungs filling up with a new breath of life, and he shook his head, ashamed of his feelings. This could not happened. He could do with a hook up but this, this was out of reach. He had promised himself to not bring anyone in his life, in his business, but all his beliefs shattered when Merlin looked back at him again. 

The DI straighten back in his chair and crossed his legs, joining his hands on his knee. He slightly dropped his head backward as a loud sigh escaped him. His heart was waltzing around. And as he looked back at the blond, guilt overflowed him again. He had kissed an other man, a chaste, soft and loving kiss, and that hurt him more than the night he had spent with Arthur. Physical needs were different from the birth of a new love. He cleared his throat, as his eyes fixed themselves on the desk. 

“I don’t know if we should Arthur.” Even if the blond agreed, he felt his guts twisting. Merlin knew nothing about him, and he knew nothing about Merlin. But he knew that no man was mad enough to enter his world willingly, just for the dull promise of a possible wonderful idyll. He nodded, eyes empty. 

The DI stood up, and put on his long coat. He retrieved a cigarette from the pack he had left before him. Arthur approached him, his lighter warming up as the flame was dancing above his fingers, but Merlin avoided him, and cracked a match instead. The first puff of smoke swallowed them, as the flame died. As the fog dissipated, Arthur found himself alone in his office. He propped his elbow on the desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath and jumped on his feet, snatched his jacket and slammed the door on his way out. He practically ran out of the door, not without throwing the Albion's keys over his shoulder, keys that Gwaine grabbed mid air, a perplexed expression in his face. He finally just shrugged, and went back to his drink. 

Arthur was now actually running down the street, his leather shoes beating like a drum on the pavement. Ahead of him, he saw the silhouette of Merlin, and so he kept running. The city was already half asleep, and not a soul was breathing besides them. Arthur reached the DI and turned around, clumsily walking backward in front of him. His lungs were painfully trying to do their job, and his blond hair was a mess, but he did not care. The DI kept his pace going, without even a look for the blond.

“-rose in the deeps of my heart.” Arthur spoke, flatly and reserved. Merlin slowed down, but still refused to meet his eyes. The blond shot a quick glance at the sky. Here he was, having sprinted down in the middle of the night to chase a man he barely knew. He took a deep breath, favouring his heart over his reason.

“The wrong of unshapely things is a wrong too great to be told.”  
Merlin stopped, and crossed his arms on his chest, his eyes almost closed. Arthur smiled shyly, and looked over his shoulder furtively, before dropping his glare back on the dark haired man. He continued, his voice more assured, but still barely a whisper.   
“I hunger to build them anew and sit on a green knoll apart, with the earth and the sky and the water, remade, like a casket of gold-“

“Arthur, please don’t.” The DI pleaded, battling the smile that appeared on his face. He could not help to check around, afraid that someone, anyone, was a witness to Arthur's impromptu poetry. But Arthur did not listen to him and finished the verse.   
“ For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose-” Arthur relaxed his shoulders and let out a small chuckle, his cheeks slightly blushing. “- in the deeps of my heart.” He was suddenly too aware of his surroundings, and dropped his head, and he swung awkwardly on his feet. So much for being the most powerful man in London, he thought, feeling so small and vulnerable. 

“You prat.” Merlin finally spoke, a grin extending from ear to ear. “You utter prat.” He giggled, rubbing a hand on his face in disbelief. 

“I beg your pardon?” Arthur exclaimed, not used to have someone talking to him like that. But he remembered that the man standing in front of him was not aware of who he was. The shadow of Pendragon darkened his eyes for a second, and he stared back at Merlin. He just wanted to apologise, for being him. 

“You can’t just...run after me and declaim Yeats.” The DI held his breath, holding back an other ridiculous giggle. It felt surreal, this sensation inside him. He had forgotten what being desired meant. Arthur took a step closer. 

“But I can. And I just did.” The DI shook his head. Before he could even say anything, the blond tapped him on the shoulder and ordered him to start walking. He heard few men cheering behind them, and followed Arthur mindlessly. His stomach sunk. He had dare to forget for a moment that they were in public, and such deviant behaviours could not happen out there. 

He abruptly stopped when he realised that Arthur was not by his side anymore, only to find him in the alcove of a building, starring at his pocket watch. The group of men were now crossing the road, and Merlin looked back at the blond, who was now gesturing towards the opened door. The DI shoved himself inside the building. The closing door erased the last strings of moonlight that were undulating on the metalwork of the staircase. 

“Sir?” Arthur offered his hand and Merlin grabbed it. The atmosphere around them was quiet, and it felt like they had stepped into their own world. The blond kissed the pale hand before letting it go to climb the stairs two by two. Standing in front of his apartment door, he came to the realisation that no one except himself had ever stepped in. He inhaled deeply, before turning the key. 

The DI ventured in the flat, eyes widen. The walls were richly ornate with golden tapestry, the carpet was swallowing each of his steps. His eyes settled down on the phone on the wall, before drifting to the sofa, a beautiful French piece. Arthur relived him from his jacket, that he placed on the ivory tack in the entrance. 

Arthur handed him a cigarette and a glass of whiskey, but the DI was still lost in the haze of beauty he had just entered. When he finally was aware of the blond’s presence, he gladly accepted both items. Arthur lighted on both cigarettes and sat on the sofa. Merlin did the same, careful not to disturbed the crystal ashtray Arthur had placed between them. 

“This... This is quite...” Lost for words, Merlin simply moved his hand towards the entirety of the room. 

“Yeah... yeah... I’m doing well.” He thought about a million reasons to explain his ostentatious lifestyle, but his mind could not focused. He felt Merlin shifting next to him. The ashtray bounced on the carpet as their lips made contact. Arthur gasped, surprised, but quickly melted into the kiss. He did not had to explain himself anymore. 

Merlin had acted quickly. He had been afraid that Arthur would confess something, anything. He was not ready for this to end. So he had kissed him in a desperate attempt to silent him. Millions of explications ran through his mind, and in none of them was Arthur an honest man. 

When they broke apart, Arthur was stupidly grinning. So was Merlin. It seemed they had silently agreed to not bring the subject on the table. Merlin dropped the ashes in the ashtray Arthur had placed back between them, and downed his glass, welcoming the warm burn from the amber liquid. In a blink of an eye, his glass was full again and he laughed. 

Arthur placed the decanter on the small ebony table on his right, and jumped on his feet, cigarette pinched between his teeth. He clapped his hand and turned on himself. A leather box appeared at Merlin's feet, Arthur kneeling by its side. He browsed through the dozens of discs before extracting one, triumphant. 

“What are you-" Merlin tried to articulate, his eyes shining and his mouth open in a loud hearty laugh. Arthur placed the vinyl on the gramophone which was proudly standing in the corner. The first note of Too Hot to Handle reverberated in the room and the DI beamed with childish joy as Arthur attempted to dance like Fred Astaire. 

“You’re quite the dancer...” he managed to say between two breath, his sarcasm quite obvious. Arthur placed a hand on his chest and faked being offended, before chuckling. He swung over Merlin to kill his cigarette in the ashtray, before pulling the dark haired man up. 

“No no no, I don’t dance Arthur.” But the blond had already placed a hand on his hip. He raised his eyebrow at Merlin’s words, and trapped the man’s free hand in his. With a quick push on his hip, he made the DI turn in himself and caught him back. 

“You see, you do dance.” His cheeks were starting to hurt from all the lovedrunk smiling. 

They waltzed together, not caring for the tempo. They only let each other go to drink or grab an other cigarette. They had longed kicked off their shoes, and Arthur had discarded his suit jacket, and Merlin's eyes had trailed along the blond arms, perfectly covered by the thin white cotton shirt. 

They were too drunk to even stand properly, but they were happy. Painfully happy. During the attempt at a pirouette, Merlin stumbled and tripped on his own feet, before crashing halfway on the sofa. He held his stomach, cramping from his laughter. Arthur dropped his intoxicated body next to him. 

Merlin’s eyes were always half closed when he was smiling, his previously perfectly combed hair was a mess and breaking into wild curls. He had unbuttoned the top of his shirt a while ago, and Arthur found himself following a drop of sweat running down the man’s chest, dying in the few dark hairs. Arthur’s hand made its way to the rest of the buttons and opened them, one by one. Merlin breathed heavily, as his long milky fingers were playing with Arthur's hair. The DI dropped his head on the back of the sofa, and just admired the man next to him. His blue eyes were always melancholic, even when the blond was smiling, as if they had been forever stained with something he had witnessed in the past. His golden skin was softer than it appeared. His jaw was casting a shadow on his neck, and it reminded him of the hills of his native Ireland. His hand travelled to Arthur leather braces, his fingers dancing on them. 

Merlin shivered when Arthur’s hand slid under his shirt, his palm almost burning against his fresh pale skin. He leaned towards the blond, his own hand sliding the braces off the man's shoulder. 

“The strongest and sweetest songs-“ Merlin breathed against Arthur’s lips. 

“-yet remain to be sung[1].” The blond finished, sealing their kiss. 

Arthur shifted, a knee pressing down in the sofa as he stood up, Merlin still hanging on his lips. He climbed over the back of the divan, planting his bare feet in the jungle of wool. When their lips partied ways, Merlin crossed his arms on top of the wooden rim of the furniture, kneeling in the soft cushion. He rested his head on his interlaced limbs as Arthur slid of his brace which still in place. Submerged by aguish born of desire, he opened his own shirt, eyes drowning in Merlin's, slowly walking away. 

Merlin straighten and straddled over the sofa as well, not breaking their eye contact. He marched on towards the blond, letting his own cotton top fall on the floor. They were both short of breath, entering a dance they had not practice in ages. When Merlin was close enough, Arthur grabbed his hand and placed it on his chest. The erratic rhythm made the pale hand pulse, and Merlin closed his eyes, letting himself being lulled by Arthur’s own song. The blond brought his lips to Merlin's neck before letting his hand go, inviting him in his bedroom. 

Vision blurred by the whiskey and fire burning in his veins, Merlin could not see anything apart from Arthur. The blond’s eyes were hypnotized by the view, every inch of Merlin's skin creating a museum he wished to visit all night. Their lips found each other’s again, as their body fell on the bed, an intricate controlled mess of arms and legs. The cold sheets only made their own fever more present, as their chest met bare for the first time. 

The dew of their skin shined under the rays of sunshine forcing their way through the thin curtains. In the floor, trousers were sleeping, while their owners danced to their own melody, punctuated by their moans. It was slow, it was warm, it was not a nameless opportunity, it was just two men, making love hidden from the tribunal their world was. No words were exchanged, as their souls were having a discussion only they could understand. Hands and fingers were turning their partner into an instrument, lovingly playing keys on one's back, composing an opera for wind instruments, their mouths knowing the notes by heart. 

The ballad of moans, cries and pleads reached its end when their bodies became one. Merlin oscillated his body softly, as Arthur could be compared to a wave embracing the shore, crashing hard yet parting softly, letting every part of his skin to fondling the porcelain shell under him, ever so afraid to break him. 

Tears accompanied the love they shared when their bodies released they final symphonies. It had been beautiful, putting any renaissance paintings to shame. They had created Art, and healed their souls. 

When Arthur nestled on Merlin’s shoulder, he had wish to die there, to ensure this moment would stay fresh in his mind forever. He looked up and met Merlin's blue orbs. He wished he would not have been able to not say it. But he did. 

“I love you.” It had been a murmur, a muffled moan and Merlin did not react. He thanked any God willingly to listen. He could not afford to be Arthur, and tomorrow already, his men would be waiting for Pendragon. He closed his eyes, drifted away. Lost in a semi awake world, he heard a faint answer. 

“So do I.” Merlin was still wide awake, his shoulder lovingly numb under the dead weight the blond had become. He thought that maybe, if the man was only the owner of the Albion, he could close his eyes, pretending to not know it was a Speakeasy. From his trousers pocket, he could see his police badge taunting him. How much of his morals was he ready to push aside? He looked down at the blond head and pressed a kiss in the mess his hair was. His heart would forgive any thing, he believed.   
______ 

“Shit!” Arthur jumped, awaken by Merlin rushing off the bed. He sat up, and watched the man dressing up in a hurry, grimacing at the state of his hair in the mirror hanged in the wall. He dragged his body out of the warm sheets and grabbed his robe. Covering himself, he walked to the kitchen and boiled some water before entering the bathroom. He searched in the cabinet and let out a small victorious ‘ah’. He passed his head through the bedroom door. 

“Merlin?” he called, smirking. 

“Hmm?” The dark haired man was battling the buttons of his shirt, really close to give up. 

“Catch!” Arthur threw a small metal tin and Merlin tried to catch it, only hurting his finger in the process. He picked it up and laughed as he realised it was hair grease. When he emerged in the living room, a warm cup of tea was waiting for him. He passed behind Arthur who was sitting at the table, and placed a kiss on his cheek before sitting down. 

“I take it you’re late?” Arthur laughed. The simplicity of the domesticity they were sharing engraved an eternal smile on his lips. 

“If I hail a cab in the next ten minutes, I should be fine.” He drank half his cup of tea greedily, pushing away his starting headache. 

Arthur, who until now had his palm laid on the table, slid it towards Merlin. He lifted it, revealing a key. 

“Is that...” Merlin beamed. Any person in their right mind would say they were moving on too quickly, but with the unavoidable war threatening them, and the nature of their relation, it only felt natural, not daring to lose a single day. 

“Yes. Yes it is. I know it’s... sudden so hmmm. My name’s Arthur, I drink too much, I snore, I don’t how to cook, and...” Arthur lost all confidence. He thought he could say it, just drop it in a meaningless lost of facts, but he stopped. 

“And you owe a speakeasy.” Merlin completed the list. He put his cup down. 

“I... yes.” To his surprise, Merlin actually laughed. The dark haired man searched his pocket. 

“Don’t freak out. Please.” He was suddenly solemn, as he placed his badge on the table. Arthur grabbed it, not believing the words laid before his eyes. 

“You’re a copper! Well, a bloody DI!” Merlin hummed, still smiling. 

“If you are willing to forget my job, I’m willing to forget you’re...business. I’m Merlin. You’re Arthur. Nothing more.” He grabbed his badge back. He did not feel nervous at all. 

“Yes. God yes Merlin. I’ll... I’ll never talk about my work, nothing at all.” He exhaled loudly. “ Anything to keep you.” His dropped his shoulder slightly. He was ready to live in a half lie. If Merlin knew about the Albion, that was enough. The DI stood up and threw his over coat on his arm. He kissed Arthur and left, promising to pass by the Albion tonight. 

It was Arthur's luck, falling in love with a man who probably spent his days chasing him. He drank his own tea in silence. They could make it work, he knew it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pitching Woo means making love  
> [1] Whitman 
> 
> Alright ! I really wanted to contrast this "smut" from the one from the first chapter. So it's not really a smut, but each sentence actually describe an act. So yeah, it's the most implicit smut you'll ever read I guess ... ! 
> 
> See you next time!


	4. Honey coolers and Snipes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four is here and I hope you'll enjoy it ! 
> 
> Small tw for alcohol consumption and violence. 
> 
> Enjoy !

**_Honey Coolers & Snipes _ **

It had been two months. Two months of sharing tea in the morning, two months of impromptu burst of poetry, two months of endless pain for their livers, two months of actual bliss. 

Clothes by clothes, book by book, Merlin had slowly moved in with Arthur, but still kept the lease of his studio flat. It was his den, where all his work was taking place, where DI Emrys operated. His mural had extended on a second wall now, but the newspapers articles were multiplying quicker than his red thread was running. Pendragon was acting quicker than ever, almost like if he was running out of time and was panicking. He was being more sloppy. Well, not sloppy per se, but less prudent. Scotland Yard had successfully arrested and condemned five Knights in the last fortnight, but their loyalty was unimaginable, and none of them had snitched on their Boss. They refused any kind of deal, or witness protection and one them had even hanged himself in his cell, from fear he would talk under pressure. 

Merlin had the gut feeling that those men must have served during the Great War. It was his only explanation for such dedication and sense of duty, and the desire to relive the thrive they had left behind in the trenches. He had some level of respect for the people that had fought for the Crown, but to him, a majority were just addicts, looking to feel alive by killing others, healing their souls with the blood of who they deemed to be the enemy. So yes, he respected the nobility of the Army as an entity, but he despised soldiers. And now that Germany was becoming a real threat as the months were passing by, he knew he would not answer the call. And if someone had the audacity to call him a coward, or label him as a deserter, he would only stand tall. He will not kill a man. To them, dead bodies were just casualties of war, a nameless enemy down, a cause for celebration. To him, it was a son, a brother, a father, a fiancé, laying dead cold, face down in the mud. The Great War had taken his father, and had left his mother to perish from a broken heart. He would not take part in this manslaughter. 

He had heard about a man in Germany, rising to the top, ideologies sweating from every pores of his skin. But to him, it was just an other miserable man, consumed by ideas of grandeur, power and meaningless revenge. The human mind needed to find someone to take the blame for their ongoing misery, to create an ideal, an utopic society. Smoke and mirrors to avoid their own reflections. It was always easier to condemn an other soul than face the truth. 

His beloved Ireland was still washing away the blood of Her people, sixteen years after Bloody Sunday had taken place. He knew nothing good came out of religion, politic extremism, or simply the human heart. As an Irish in London, he had faced the discrimination, the violence, the stigma of his origins. And if someone would have told him that being queer was better than being Irish in the land of progress England came to be, he would have laughed at the face of the world. A bunch of hypocrites, glorifying Joyce, Wilde or Yeats during their mundane dinners while refusing to rent their properties to _bog-trotters_ [1]. 

Standing in the shithole that was his flat, he stared at his walls. The irony of driving himself into madness over the death of one man and conducting a crusade of his own. He was not better than the soldiers he looked down upon, the politicians he so deeply resented, the religious he wished to spit on. He was only human, driven by his own beliefs. There was no right or wrong, just conflicting ideas, colliding at some point in history.

He would not kill a man. But Pendragon had long lost the status of _man_ in his eyes. 

He lighted on a cigarette and turned around to snatched his pocket watch from the floor. He sighed and started to get ready. He stumbled down his mattress and went to boil some water. He could hear his neighbours arguing through the thin walls again. It was like two different worlds, his flat and Arthur's. 

He had long made peace with the fact that the blond was running a speakeasy, and as the woman begged for her boyfriend to let go of her arm, he could see the appeal of making easy money, no matter the methods of choice. 

The kettle whistled, joining his neighbours high pitched cries and he stood there, motionless. It was almost a decade ago since women had gained their rights to vote, but here he was, having to listen powerlessly to Evaline’s misery, propriety of her man. 

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and grabbed the water. He emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, shaved and greased. From the chair by his bed, he retrieved his jacket and cigarettes and headed out. As he closed his front door, his fingers trailed along the carved wood. Someone in the building had found clever to mark his door, and he was greeted with a lovely “ _snout_ "[1] immortalised in wood. 

______

  
“I don’t care that you vouch for him Morgana, he is just a kid!” Arthur was really starting to lose his patience. 

“But we would not need him if you were not acting that recklessly ! Five of our men have been arrested because of you. You blamed Uther for being a greedy bastard, but look at you! You are acting exactly like him!”. She shouted, slamming her hand on the desk, her bracelets ringing at each of her movements. Gwaine, Percy, Elyan and Leon were standing behind her, all wishing they could be somewhere else. Their boss was an intimidating man, but it was nothing compared to Morgana when she was loosing her temper. Standing next to her, Mordred had his arms crossed on his chest, and he was trying to not flinch under her striding voice. 

“Don't...” Arthur spit out between his teeth. His jaw was locked and his fists were clenched so hard that his knuckles were drained of all colour.

“Oh no Arthur, you don’t get a say in this. Mordred is becoming a Knight, and you put your shit together, now. And get rid of the copper, your bloody _fairy boy_ for God’s sake!” She turned two shades lighter when her own words reached her ears. Arthur's eyes darkened, but strangely his whole body seemed to relax. A smile appeared on the corner of his lips. Gwaine instinctively drew his knife, his eyes wide opens. He had knew Arthur for years, but this was a new level of anger that the blond had never displayed before. And it seemed that Morgana thought the same, taking two steps back. 

“My _fairy boy,_ Morgana? My bloody _fair_ -" And Elyan dropped dead. Gwaine had closed his eyes, and was now wiping off brain matter from his face. Leon sighed loudly. Percival exited the room, slamming the door on his way out. Arthur threw his revolver on top of his desk, unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up. He was still sitting, unbothered. 

“If you open your mouth once again, Morgana, I will not miss.” He gave her a dangerous smirk before turning to the young man standing to her side. Mordred had not flinched when he had fired. Arthur still believed the man to be too young to enter this life, but his reaction had made it clear he was no stranger to it. He grabbed a cigarette and his lighter, and blew a cloud of smoke on the young boy's face. 

“You.” He nonchalantly gestured in his direction. “Talk with Leon. It seems we have a free spot on the team.” He stood up and passed by Morgana without even a look, before stopping next to Gwaine. “Just clean my office mate. I’ll make sure a bottle is waiting for you at the bar.” And he left. 

He dropped his body on one of the bar stool, and Percy slammed a glass on the bar, and poured him some rum almost to the top. The giant was clearly pissed off, and was not afraid to show it. And in a certain way, Arthur got it. It was the first time that Percival had seen someone being killed, hell, he even had some of Elyan's blood on his normally immaculate grey shirt. 

A thick silence fell between them. Arthur knew he had fucked up. And he had been so close to actually shoot Morgana, but he had deviated his revolver at the last second. He knew it could have been any of his Knight receiving the bullet. He downed half his glass. He just could not keep up with this life anymore. He despised Pendragon and all what he represented. The last two months had been a blessing, and he just wanted to be the man Merlin thought he was : a man running a speakeasy. Nothing more. His knights might believe his was reckless, but he just wanted to accelerate every thing quick enough for his empire to be unstoppable so he could hand it over to Morgana. Early retirement plans. And he was aware that some of his men had been sacrificed for his own profit, but each passing day was comparable to a day in Hell. He just wanted a way out. He did not plan that the stress he was putting himself under would exacerbate his Pendragon persona. By trying to escape his life, he became what the man he had killed fourteen months ago was. He bottomed up his glass, cheering to the irony of life. 

Percy refilled his glass, but stopped midway. He exhaled loudly and poured himself one instead, and downed it in one go, before finally serving Arthur. He ended up tapping his fingers on the bottle for a while. He took an other shot, and placed the bottle back on the shelf. Without turning around, he spoke, resting his hands flat on the back counter. 

“You know she did not mean it, right Boss?” his voice was strangely weak for a man of his built. Arthur hummed slightly, nose deep in his glass. “She was angry and her tongue slipped. But she has a point.” It’s only then that he turned to face his boss. “You are being reckless. The blood on my shirt is just proving her point even further.” 

Arthur raised an eyebrow and delicately put down his glass. 

“You know Percy. There is a difference between confronting me about the business, and insulting me. She crossed the line.” To Arthur’s surprise, Percy laughed. 

“So you killed a man just for the sake of your ego, is that it? Then maybe she was wrong indeed : you are nothing like your father.” The bartender snatched a cigarette from Arthur's packet and lighted it on. He took a long drag, before tapping it on the rim of the blond's glass, letting his ashes fall into the amber liquid. “You are worse.” He smoked half of the cigarette in one breath and killed the other half in his boss glass, planting his eyes into Arthur's. He gave his boss a polite smile, and walked out. 

Arthur buried his face in his palms. He was exhausted. It just wanted to make it stop, to bring an end to this sinister joke that was his life. 

___________

  
“Where are you going?” Gwaine asked, confused to see Percy leaving this early. 

“Scotland Yard.” The giant barked. Gwaine closed the boot of his Austin, forgetting Elyan's body was laying inside, lifeless. 

“You’re joking eh?” But Gwaine's expression betrayed his light tone. He grabbed Percy's arm desperately. “You can’t. You won’t. I won’t let you Percy.” To punctuate his statement, the long haired man pressed his blade on the giant's side. 

“Arthur is out of control. I can deal with a speakeasy, but this is too much. He’s loosing it, he is turning London into a slaughterhouse.” He did not tried to break away from Gwaine’s grip, almost daring him to stop him. 

“He is fucking _Pendragon_. What did you expect? You saw today what he’s been doing every day. Today was not special. Don’t try to act all noble all of a sudden.” He hissed between his teeth. 

“He killed an innocent man for a single misplaced remark.” Percy did not step downed. His mind was set. This was the last straw. 

“Tell me you would not have done the same _for me_?” Gwaine's tried to look for the answer in Percy's eyes, but the man he loved only looked away. “Then what are you doing here?” 

“I took the job for you and you know it. But this, this is ridiculous. You could have been the one dying in that office Gwaine. I can’t live like that anymore. I need to stop this.” Gwaine released his lover and stepped backward. He had tears in his eyes and his hand was shaking. He laughed bitterly at the sight of his fingers struggling to get a grip on his so beloved knife. He swung his arm, aiming straight for the heart, but Percival dodged him at the last second, and the knife lodged itself in his arm. 

“I see now where your loyalty stands.” The giant flatly stated. Gwaine swallowed a sob, tumbling backward until his back was resting against the car. He kept begging for forgiveness, lost in a haze of sentiments. His lover teared apart his jacket and took off his braces, without even glancing at him. A litany of aborted explanations tried to leave Gwaine's lips, only to die as pathetic noises. 

Percy placed one leather stripe between his teeth and took a deep breath, as he pulled out the knife from his arm. He growled like the injured animal he was, and cut his braces in half, before throwing the blade at Gwaine's feet in disdain. He tied the stripe above the wound, and undid his tie with one hand. He spat out the leather, and with the help of his teeth, he rolled the piece of fabric around his bicep. The blood was already passing through the two layers, but he could not care less, he just needed to be able to reach the police station. 

Gwaine laid there, his fingers digging in his scalp as he tried to bury his head in his knees. It should not end like this. He could not loose Percy like that. He stumbled up, and reached inside the car, looking for the bottle of whiskey he had got from the bar on his way out. Through his tears, he glanced at the third that was left, opened it, and downed it miserably, washing away his pain and sorrow. The sound of the bottle hitting the pavement was the last thing he heard before his body collapsed on the hard concrete. 

_______

“Hey...” Arthur turned around, and broke into a grin. Or at least half if one. 

“Hey!” The whole day had taken a toll on his spirit, and he gladly pulled Merlin into a kiss. “I missed you today" he said under his breath when they broke apart. 

“You’re alright?” The DI asked, his own smile fading at the view of the remains of the cigarette floating in the glass, and the strangely empty bar. “Did something happened?” 

“I... just got in an argument with Percy.” Arthur sighed. Merlin had since moved behind the bar and helped himself to some whiskey. He emptied Arthur's spoilt drink and gave him a new one. 

“What happened?” _I killed a man to defend your honour_ , Pendragon thought. 

“Something about our new manufacturer.” Arthur said. He ruffled his hair, trying to think about something else. 

“Where’s Gwaine? Surely he can cover Percy for tonight.” Merlin suggested, sitting back next to Arthur. He placed his hand on the blond’s knee in a comforting gesture. Arthur looked back at him, and his heart missed a bit. He had almost killed Morgana for this man, and now staring into his blue eyes, he was convinced he would do it again. _Gwaine is getting rid of the body_ , Pendragon barked. 

“He is running an errand for me. Hopefully, he’ll be back before we open. Worse case scenario, I can serve the first few drinks.” He gave his lover a bright smile, which Merlin reciprocated, finding the thought of Arthur working as a bartender quite amusing. “Enough of me though. How was your day?” 

“Almost as bad as yours!” Merlin childishly chuckled and chunked down his whiskey. “On a serious note, my current case is driving me mad. I know we promised each other to not talk about our job, but... I can’t anymore. It’s like running after something that doesn’t exist. And I’m pretty sure he must be reading the newspapers, laughing at the incompetence of Scotland Yard. My superintendent is giving me hell because of it and- sorry. I’ll shut up now.” He rubbed his temples and gladly accepted the cigarette Arthur was offering him.

“Hey, it’s alright. You’ll catch that guy. I’m sure of it. Plus, you are getting rid of the competition for me, so no needs to get my own hands dirty, and more money for us so cheers!” Arthur said, trying to joke around, but his words were only met with a cold glare. “You know I don’t mean it Merlin. I don’t do business like that.” Arthur's entire soul hurt. 

“I know. I know.” And Merlin really believed what he was saying. Or at least, he tried. He never felt comfortable with Arthur hinting at his work. But he had to admit that in the last two months, the police had never be called to the Albion. Not a single bar fight, no gunshots, nothing. Arthur was only neck down in moonshine, nothing else. And the blond had swore, endless times, that there was nothing more. He had even let the DI be present during the deliveries, and sometimes, they were going over the Albion's accounting together. Arthur really tried to reassure him. And Merlin really tried to believe him. 

“Hey...don’t look at me like _that_ , please.” Arthur held Merlin's hands, trying to catch his eyes. But the DI kept looking down, ashamed of his own doubt. 

“Like what?” he breathed out. 

“Like I am a criminal.” Arthur let go of Merlin and stood up, pacing around. 

“I am not-" 

“You are.” Arthur cut him off faintly. From the back door, Morgana entered quietly, making her way to the stage, trying to make herself as small as humanly possible. Merlin briefly looked at her, confused by her attitude. She was always so loud and happy but right now, she only looked off, almost frightened, he thought. She would not even look at Arthur, avoiding the bar at all cost. Merlin saw the blond tensing up when she had appeared, and he had annoyingly exhaled. 

“Arthur... what happened?” Merlin pressed, shyly reaching to Arthur. But the blond dodged his touch. Instead, Arthur stormed off behind the bar and grabbed a nameless bottle, and drank as if he was trying to drown himself. 

“ _Please_ Morgana, tell him!” Arthur finally shouted towards the stage. Merlin was surprised, hearing Arthur being angry for the first time. His body language had hardened, and he was just looking like an arrogant lad that people would pay to punch. This was not his Arthur, this was someone else. 

“You know I did not mean it!” She shouted back, looking directly at Arthur. 

“But you said it anyway! I’m paying you to be a pretty canary on stage, not to hear your opinion about my relationship.” He had stopped shouting, but Merlin could see he was still infuriated. 

“Merlin, I'm-" Morgana started but was quickly silenced by Arthur smashing his glass on the floor. 

“Don’t you dare _talk_ to him. Don’t you even dare _look_ at him.” Arthur tried to take a deep breath. He could not even think about what Merlin must be thinking of him right now. Their story was not meant to end like that. 

“Or what Arthur? You’ll shoot me? Are you still wearing iron? I’m sure your boyfriend would love to see it!” Merlin’s world collapsed in that moment. He grabbed his coat and threw some coins on the bar, letting Arthur know it was done between them. His drink was paid, and he would never come back. 

“Merlin wait!” Arthur's voice was hitting its breaking point. Merlin turned around as a metallic noise echoed in the empty place. His eyes fell on the gun Arthur had thrown on the wooden floor. “Here. That’s mine. There’s no bullet. I don’t even know how to use it. It just look better for business if the owner has one. It’s part of the job. And I-" The blond propped himself on the counter, unable to look at the DI anymore. “I ... threatened Morgana earlier. She had insinuated that you were just a man...of deviant behaviour and I...lost my temper.” 

Morgana had no time to explain herself that Merlin was pressed against Arthur, his mouth violently shutting up the blond. It was an endless battle of teeth and tongues, and Arthur winced when his bottom lips had split. Merlin only went harder, feeding himself with the blood pouring from their kiss. The DI had blocked the blond against the bar, arms on each side of his body. With his hips, he kept pushing Arthur, making the counter painfully dig into the blond lower back. He was beating him up, with love. And Arthur let him, faint cries of pain escaping him. 

When Merlin finally backed off, his blue eyes were clouded, and his face was blushed from anger. None of them were remotely hard, apart from their hearts.

“The coward does it with a kiss, Arthur.” 

From the back of his hand, Merlin wiped off his mouth, smearing blood on his cheek. He dived in his pocket shortly after and took out the key Arthur had given him, and looked at it a last time before shaking his head. He chuckled, laughing at his own stupidity. The key bounced two times before fixing itself in time between the two men. The DI lifted his hand and pointed to Arthur, but no words ever came out. He sighed and walked away while he still had the strength to do so. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honey coolers and Snipes: kisses and cigarettes. 
> 
> Bog - trotters and snout were both slur which were used to describe Irish people. 
> 
> "fairy" is also an old slur to describe an homosexual male
> 
> Also, Merlin's last words in this chapter are a verse from my favourite poem ever written. You might have the reference (and in that case, you know what's coming) or you might not get the reference, and in that case, be prepared.
> 
> This fic being a gift, I know that the person concerned has the reference, and I am taking quite some pleasure into torturing them, I might admit. 
> 
> See you soon, for what I belived will be the last chapter !


	5. Ballad of a Grifter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, my friend.

**_Ballad of a Grifter_**

Merlin walked. In fact, he ran away. The buildings were swallowing him as he disappeared in the city. His feet carried him around, but he had no clue of where he was going. And he hoped to never stop. He drowned his senses with his surroundings, from the fresh ink essence coming from the kiosks to the calming drum-like music created by the horses trotting down the road. 

That was it then. It had all ended. Arthur had not been the man he thought he was. He had had his doubts since the first day, but he had so successfully buried his intuition, blinded by the lies the blond had been serving him. He was blaming himself, for turning Arthur into this perfect man, this idea of an innocent love. 

He loosened his tie slightly, gasping for air, welcoming the fresh breeze now tickling his neck. His mind was torturing him, reminiscing him the endless nights he had spent at the Albion. The time he and Arthur had drunk too much and ended up on stage, dancing to Morgana's voice who could not hide her laughs.

“You are both equally bad at this you know that!” She had gleefully joked once the last patrons had finally left. Arthur had flung himself on one of the bar stool, pulling Merlin in his arms, shamelessly devouring him. 

“And you have not seen him trying dance like Astaire! It’s a miracle he has not broke a bone yet!” Merlin had breathed out in-between giggles as Arthur's teeth had made their way to his collarbone. Morgana had rolled her eyes, but she was happy to see Arthur being himself, and finally smiling. It never seemed to be a big deal for the blond, but for Merlin, to be held and kissed by his partner in a public place was intoxicating. That night, Arthur had dared kissing on stage, furtively, almost accidently as their body followed the melody. And the DI had openly moaned, his heart begging Arthur to do it again, to show the world how much they loved each other and how beautiful it was. The crowd did not seem to care, and for a short moment, Merlin had imagined a world where _deviant_ men and women like him would live openly, flooding the world with endless love.

He had never been religious, or maybe he used to be once, but all faith had been lost a long time ago. If he was meant to live a life of sin, then he would rather not believe his heart would open him the gates of Hell, for God loves all his children. Or that’s what he had been made to believe. And if he was wrong, if the sky was not empty, then he was convinced that crossing path with Arthur was all part of a bigger plan, for their love could not be a monstrosity, but a blessing from upper powers. 

He kept walking, his eyes glancing up at the moon which was shyly appearing in the sky that the sun was slowly abandoning. Maybe this was it ; maybe he had just entered the hell he so desperately wanted to refute the existence of. He passed by a bakery, and his mind trailed off again, to the night Percy had fed them all some Cornish pastries.

They had all sat on the biggest table the Albion had to offer, playing cards and complaining about the crumbs living small oil stains on the varnished wood. Gwaine had been his usual cocky self, betting he could win any game against Merlin. The DI had took upon the challenge, engaging in a friendly game of poker. It appeared that Leon and Percival were really bad at it and they quickly had given up after loosing almost all their cigarettes. Elyan was slightly better but he was lacking confidence, often folding when he actually had a winning hand. He had quickly quit to instead drink with Leon and Percival. Morgana was probably the most dangerous, unreadable and devilishly good. But she had a tell, smirking like an hungry animal. Merlin had quickly caught on it and after few rounds, he had gained the upper hand.

Arthur had been the total opposite, he was incredibly bad at it, which made him a strangely difficult man to beat. He did not knew the winning hands and was guessing each of his moves, his face just being overly confused all the time. It was always a matter of luck to win against him : a man who doesn’t know his game can not have a tell. But it had all become more interesting when both Morgana and Arthur were out, leaving only Merlin and Gwaine. They were both clearly exceptionally good players. 

“Can’t believe a _copper_ is that good at a gambling game!” Gwaine had teased. 

“Can’t believe an _alcoholic_ can hold more than two cards in their hand! ” Merlin had replied, earning a wink from Gwaine who downed an other shot of whiskey. The long haired man had that particularity of kissing each chip before betting them, and even wasted, he was still doing tricks with his cards, probably just to show off. Merlin had rolled his eyes a numerous amount of time as Gwaine shuffled the stack for far too long, making sure to use a more complicated shuffle every time.

“Alright mate, I’m pretty sure the deck is shuffled now!” Arthur had chuckled, his cheek blushed by the alcohol. 

“I don’t trust Merlin! Look at his eyes ... I won’t be surprised if the bastard can count the cards eh!” His laugh had quickly died though, as Merlin had a dead serious expression, before raising an eyebrow. “No! You can’t seriously count them can you?” Gwaine had talked like a kid in front of a toy shop. 

“You'll never know.” The DI had said, lighting on a cigarette, before snatching the deck from Gwaine's hand. He glanced towards Arthur who gave a nod, smirking. Merlin tapped the deck on the green mat, and planted his eyes into Gwaine's. Without even looking at his hands, the dark haired man had executed a perfect show of slight of hands, making the cards dancing between his fingers, disappearing and appearing as he pleased, before laying down the four aces. He had never blinked, and he had enjoyed every second of Gwaine's expression crumbling down. Arthur could not get enough of it though. He had woken up one morning to find Merlin sitting on the sofa, his hair free from any product, his toes twirling in the carpet, and his right hand mindlessly playing around with a deck of cards while he was reading the newspaper. It was nothing, but it was one of Arthur's most cherished memory. Since then, he had always tried to catch a glimpse of his lover's mesmerizing skill.

“Alright! Fine, I’m out!” Gwaine exclaimed, and the whole group had cheered. It had been the first time someone had ever won a card game against Gwaine, and that called for celebration. He poured some shots for everybody, trying to forget what he had considered to be a small friendly humiliation. But Merlin was still harbouring a smirk. 

“What now?” Gwaine was suspicious, and it only made the group laugh even more.

The DI had cupped the deck in his right hand and slowly made the cards rain one by one. When the last one had found its resting place on the table, Merlin's fingers dropped one more thing. Gwaine gasped and instinctively held his hand around his neck. Balancing at the end of the long pale fingers was his necklace, his father's ring and mother's sigil moving like pendulums, teasing him. The DI broke into a loud cackle and threw the necklace back to a dumbfounded Gwaine. 

“You are too wicked to be a copper mate.” It had been said in a too serious way by Gwaine, almost sad to see such skills wasted away. But Merlin only winked and downed his scotch. Percy tapped Gwaine's shoulder, amused to see his lover speechless, which actually never happened in the past. 

Merlin sighed as he crossed the road. He wondered if every thing had been a lie all along. His guts could not fathom the idea that Gwaine was more than a disastrous flirty bartender, and yet, he would not be surprised. He believed that no innocent man would drink so much. Gwaine must have been trying to drown a part of himself, and the DI bashed himself mentally for even thinking ill of the people he considered to be his friends. 

He came to a stop as he suddenly realised where he had ended. The boutiques were still the same and the crack in the pavement was still there. He could still see the blood filling it up and moving like a snake, even if the rain and time had long washed it all away. Hesitant, he stepped on the side and dropped one knee on the floor. His fingers travelled on the cold concrete _. I'll be right back_ , had said Will.

Merlin let himself drop to where Will’s body had laid cold, unaware of the weird looks he was getting. In the last two months, he had slowly forgotten him and he hated himself for it. “I miss you" his voice broke into an ugly sob. He was shaking, not holding his tears back anymore. It was a pathetic show he was putting on, exhibiting to the world that he had fooled himself pretending to be a man when he only had been the shadow of himself for the past two years. 

“Sir?” Merlin felt a hand firmly gripping his shoulder but did not move. He refused to leave Will again. “Sir!” the man insisted, his voice sharper. “Give me a hand.” The DI heard the man said, and someone else grabbed him and pulled him up on his feet. His own legs could not support his weight and the two men struggled to keep him standing. “Bloody drunkard.” Spat the second man, which Merlin only realised now, were bobbies.

“I'm not drunk!” Merlin babbled, his whole body aching. But his trembling voice was contradicting his own words. Yet he knew he was not drunk, or at least not as drunk as the two policemen seemed to think. He just wanted to be left to die on the pavement and join Will in his endless sleep. He just wanted to be left to die. The Knights, Pendragon, The Albion, Scotland Yard, Gaius ; nothing mattered to him anymore. His heart had been ripped out of his chest without any anaesthesia, his eyes had been teared open, his feelings had been lobotomised and he could not do it anymore. Will’s body had died on this pavement, Arthur’s soul had died at the Albion. He was grieving, the lost of the idyll he had thrown himself into, burning a hole so deep he could see the devil sitting on his thrown, mocking him. Life had a cruel scheme to punish him for the way his heart was swinging. He had always believed the flame that a boy and a girl in love were nursing was universal, but the stars seemed too keen to make him suffer for it, as his own flame was burning in the heart of two Adam. Were men like him meant to suffer for the sin of the kiss they had shared ? The Love that dare not speak its name was wise, for its name was Punishment, and it shall not speak of it, frightened by the sinister promise of ruination. 

Handcuffed at the back of the police car, London was unfolding before his eyes but his tears turned _his_ city into a macabre kaleidoscope. 

__________ 

“Sir!” Gwen exclaimed as a bleeding man walked towards her reception desk. She was already looking around, searching for one of her colleague who could drive him to the nearest hospital. 

“I would like to talk to your superintendent, please.” She stopped dryly and nodded. 

“I'll get him for you now.” Gwen left her desk and entered one of the office, not without glancing back at the man who was supporting himself on the desk, looking at his wound with empty eyes. Less than a minute later, she came back, Gaius following her. 

“Good evening sir.” Gaius scanned the man from head to toe before rising an inquisitive eyebrow.

“I wish to turn someone in. His name is Arthur Pendragon.” At the mention of the name, Gwen gasped faintly. Gaius gestured to his office, inviting the man in. 

“Nasty wound you have here.” The old man stated, taking out a small leather bag from the shelf of his office. “May I?” he asked, taking off the bloodied tie. The man did not even winced. He only stared at the empty chair of the superintendent while the old man dressed the wound in a more professional way, his fingers stained by the Great War. A care the old man had done too many times in the past. When he was satisfied, he finally sat down, and the man took it as his cue to start talking. 

“I know who Pendragon is, and where you can find him.” His words were met with a deadly unimpressed silent. “His name is Arthur Pendragon, and you can find him every night at the Albion. I am ready to testify against him in court if needed. I have witnessed one murder with my own eyes, but I can give you a list of all the victims from the past two years. I can also write you down all the speakeasy that I am aware of. Whatever you need, I’ll tell you.” 

Gaius seemed deep in thoughts for a moment, before nodding solemnly. 

“Why should I believe you...?” 

“Percival.” The giant said, his voice too calm to be natural. The old man could see Percival was containing a storm inside him right now. 

“Why should I believe you Percival?” 

The giant sighed faintly as he reached in his pocket, taking out a folded piece of paper. He handed it over the superintendent without an hesitation. The old man unfolded it and his old glassy eyes scanned every words on the page. It was a simple note, asking for three bottles of whiskey to be packed and send to someone called Cenred. The packaged needed to be labelled as “ _courtesy of Pendragon"._

“I am working... used to work as a bartender at the Albion. This is the only evidence I can give you of my good words.” The giant stated, and the two men shared an understanding look, knowing this note was more than Scotland Yard had ever gathered in years. 

“Please ask Miss Thomas for a ride to the nearest hospital. If what you tell happens to have some truth to it, we will make sure that you get the adequate protection, only if you wish of course. I will ask two of my men to escort you back here once your wound has been stitched up. Thank you.” The giant shook his head in agreement and exited the office, not a single once of guilt rushing through his veins. 

Gaius pressed his hands together. His decision was taken. He ordered five of his men to come with him : he was raiding the Albion. 

____________

Arthur brought a finger to his lips, trying to catch the ghost of Merlin's kiss. It was over. The last words of his lover had burned his flesh, scarring him in unspeakable pain. 

“The brave man with a sword.” He breathed out, his eyes settling down on the key. 

Morgana walked to him, uncertain. They had shared two decades worth of memories, and yet, she was astonished, seeing Arthur shedding a tear. 

Merlin had only seen the tip of the iceberg that Pendragon was, and he had wished him dead. He had, in fact, _murdered_ him. Arthur felt like it, his life suddenly meaningless, feeling like a shell made of forgotten futures, broken discs and already smoked cigarettes. 

He did not move when the back door burst open. He did not move when Morgana screamed. He did not move when two men grabbed him. He was not even the shadow of himself anymore, he was the shadow of an idea, the shadow of a trickery, the shadow of a shadow, getting lost in the London night sky. 

Handcuffed at the back of the police car, London was unfolding before his eyes but his tears turned _his_ city into a macabre kaleidoscope. 

_________

  
Arthur’s body was being dragged through Scotland Yard. Locked in the interrogation room, he felt relieved. He would rather live as Arthur in jail for the rest of his life, than live as Pendragon in the streets for the next year, two years or until someone would get rid of his cold body in the Thames. 

But no matter how hard he tried, all his thoughts were submerged by Merlin. The way his lover always smelled of hair grease and ashes. How he would never finish his plate, yet he would always finish his glass. How he hated when Arthur could see him with his hair undone. How despite being right handed, he always smoked from his left hand. The way he always nodded to himself after checking his watch. 

Some might say everybody deserved to be happy, but Arthur would disagree. Merlin had been his punishment for the life he led, for his own existence. A god had given him someone to love, and Arthur had loved him. But it was no god that had brought Merlin on his path. It was just a twist of fate, a way the universe found to toy with him. A taste of what he could have had if he had lived the life of an honest man. A sample of a happy life, that had just been stolen from him. 

_And all men kill the thing they love, By all let this be heard_ , Arthur hummed to himself, burying his face in his palms. A growl of pain escaped his lungs. He was howling, begging any superior entity to forgive him for being born. _Some do it with a bitter look, some with a flattering word_ , he cried out, his whole body being torn apart by his sorrow. The executions, the alcohol, the drugs, the prostitutes, the money laundering ; everything was laughing at him. His sins rushing back to him. The empty room being the tribunal of his own conscience. His voice sentencing him. _The coward does it with a kiss_... 

His tied hands twisted painfully has he dug in the inside pocket of his jacket, until his fingertips tickled the cold metal handle. Damocles had never felt so real as he extracted his pocket knife. 

He stood tall on his chair, chin up, arrogance pouring out of every pores of his tanned skin. His breathing was low and deep. A satisfied smirk curled up on the corner of his bludgeoned lips.

 _...The brave man with a sword_. 

He died as Pendragon, his blood running on the table, rushing away from the despicable man he had been. His last thought was not for Merlin. London faded away in his mind, the Thames absolving him of his sins. 

________

Merlin entered Scotland Yard escorted by the two policemen. 

“Merl- Inspector!” Gwen rushed to him, both euphoric and worried. “Let him go, would you!” She snapped at the two bobbies, who reluctantly released the dark haired man. Merlin rubbed his wrists mindlessly. 

“We have him!” Gwen shouted, not hiding her excitement anymore. But Merlin did not react. One of the police man simply said that he was drunk and had shut down in the car. She placed her hands on the DI’s shoulders and tried to catch his eyes. “Merlin...we got him. We have Pendragon.” Her voice was now soft, almost mother-like.

He snapped back up, and coldly asked where. 

“Interrogation room. We’ve been waiting for you.” She had goose bumps from Merlin's tone. He was frightening her, and she believed to be faced with a mad man. This man was not her boss. He pushed her aside more abruptly than he probably meant and stumbled in the room. 

The gut feeling he had pushed aside for so long just kicked him in the stomach as his eyes laid on the familiar figure. Arthur was Pendragon. Pendragon was Arthur. Two names, one dead body. 

Merlin watched the blood dripping on the floor, mirroring the suicide of its owner as it fell from the table. Every drop hammering down the guilt plaque in Merlin's heart. 

His punishment laid before his eyes ; the second body of a man he had dared to love.

Gwen was standing behind him, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes widen with horror. Merlin turned and looked at her. With a quick step, she had moved away, refusing to look at the body any longer. He stayed next to her, and closed the door. 

His hand caressed her face, brushing away a lock of brown hair. 

“For my name is Love, my flame burning in his and her hearts.” 

He placed a kiss on her cheek, his eyes closed. Alongside Arthur’s body laid Merlin’s deviant behaviours, his purest love to be buried in the same coffin. 

His chest was empty, his faith was lost, his soul was broken. 

Let it be Gwen or an other, as he promised to give his heart to an Eve, for posing as somdomite only brought death, to the men who had tasted his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title would be "ballad of a con man" 
> 
> Alright, it's over ! 
> 
> The chapter is highly inspired by two poems :  
> -"ballad of the reading gaol" from Oscar Wilde 
> 
> \- "Two loves" from Lord Alfred Douglas, also known as Bosie, poem often forgotten and yet, its last verse had become an expression in the current language : "the love that dare not speak its name". So here you go, this expression comes from a poem written by Oscar Wilde's lover. 
> 
> Also, "posing as somdomite" ( and no, it's not a typo) is from a card that the Marquess of Queensbury [ Lord Alfred Douglas' father] wrote to Oscar Wilde. Wilde decided to sue him for diffamation, but lost the trial. 
> 
> Famously, the last verse of "Two loves" was brought up in court, and Wilde had been asked to explain it's meaning. 
> 
> Dumbhotbitchknightgwaine, this is it! It was an intense journey to write, and I hope it was the same to read ! 
> 
> I'll let you decide who is the coward and who is the brave man. Arthur died in the name of his life. Merlin believes he killed Arthur due to his homosexuality, and forces himself back into a more "proper" life. I told you, I don't do happy endings XX

**Author's Note:**

> Pip and hooch would translate to "Attractive person and whiskey". I think that using songs from the 1930's could be quite fun! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this first chapter, see you next time !!


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